Ghosts of Crimes Past
by kyrdwyn
Summary: The entire shift works on a politcally connected case. The one person who can help them solve it, won't -- she has a hatred of Brass and Grissom going back five years.


'Ghosts of Crimes Past'

By kyrdwyn

Rated: R

Spoilers: 'Pilot', 'Cool Change'

July 16, 2001

_CSI, Gil Grissom and company, and places and etc are all property of Anthony Zuiker, Alliance Atlantis, CBS, and other companies. They did not condone this fic, and I am not getting paid for it. I write because I want to. All other characters not appearing on CSI in any way, shape, or form that appear in this story are my property. If you have any comments - good or bad, feel free to e-mail me at: toxicrev@yahoo.com_

_This story was written after the end of Season One (2000-2001).  It was posted on my web site last summer._

            Jana stood outside the Las Vegas crime lab, a cigarette pinched between her index and middle fingers.  The smoke from the glowing end curled upward toward the street lamp.  To her right, a pair of uniformed cops walked out of the building, a woman in handcuffs between them. As they assisted the prisoner into their squad car, each officer eyed her in appraisal.   Another uniformed pair, struggling with a suspect who was proclaiming his innocence, also watched Jana with studied suspicion. She narrowed her eyes, returning the favor.  

She refused to enter the building.  If it had been her choice, she wouldn't have even come this far.  The LVPD had their own tools; they didn't _really_ need her help.  Her client, however, insisted this information be given to the police.  It was within the client's right to disseminate the information as they saw fit.  And so here she stood, smoking a cigarette and trading glares with officers coming and going from the building.

            Her attention was drawn to an SUV as it pulled up outside the lab.  The passenger was heavyset, carefully climbing from the vehicle, his bulk making it difficult.  The driver was taller than his companion, his medium frame topped by salt and pepper hair.  He rung the keys around his index finger as he rounded the back of the vehicle, his lips moving as he spoke to the passenger.  Recognition settled on Jana instantly. _Wonderful_, she thought.  _Just the two I didn't want to see_.  She could have handled speaking with Nick or Warrick or maybe even Catherine, but Brass and Grissom were a different story.  They had been on her shit list for the past five years.  

            Brass saw her first, surprised recognition crossing his face.  Grissom looked a bit stunned before regaining that maddening composure of his and walking over to her.

            "You started smoking."   He sounded disappointed, a paternal tone in his voice.

            "Only when I have to deal with unpleasant people," she shot back.  He looked hurt.  She was pleased to see the barb hit home.

            Brass raised an eyebrow, "What brings you by, Jana?"

            "Information on the Edgecombe homicide."

            "Giving or getting?"

            "Giving."  Lord, how she hated that superior tone in Brass's voice.

            "Why don't you come in so we can talk about it?"

            Jana regarded Grissom steadily.  "No way in hell are you getting me back in there."

            "Jana, it's been five years."

            Five years, seven months, and eight days, but who was counting?  Not her.  She blew out a column of smoke and handed Grissom the folder she'd brought with her.  

            "It's all in there, you don't need me.  Besides, I know how my work methods disturb you gentlemen, and I don't feel like justifying myself to you again."  She dropped her cigarette on the ground and crushed it out with her toe, turning her back on them.  She called back over her shoulder as she got into her car.  "My phone number's in the file if you need me."

            Grissom watched the petite blond drive away, worried.  He opened the folder she had handed him.

            "There's a lot of anger in that young woman," Brass noted.

            "Think she's angry enough to kill?" Grissom asked, showing Brass the top photo in the folder.  Walter Edgecombe, in all his naked glory, spread out on a bed in his house, blood still spraying from the severed jugular.  A picture taken moments before his death.

*                                  *                                  *

            The entire graveyard shift had been assigned the Edgecombe murder. The shift had ended hours earlier, the sun now peeking through the blinds. The sheriff, however, wanted them working around the clock - the victim had been a good friend of the governor's. Grissom stood before them, listening intently to their reports. When everyone had finished, he hesitated a moment, then passed around the new assignments.

            "Warrick, you and Catherine go back to the scene and see if there's anything else you can find that we may have missed the first time through.  Nick, you work with Sanders on getting those hairs and fibers typed.  Brass and I are going to interview family members again.  Sara, I need you to speak with a private investigator who may know more about this case than she's letting on."

            He put the photos from Jana's file onto the table.  He watched expressions change as the team realized that Edgecombe had still been alive when some of them were taken.  

            Catherine broke the silence first. "You think this P.I. killed him?"

            "I don't know, but I do know that if she didn't, she probably saw who did - may even have a picture of him that she hasn't turned over."

            "Wait a second, if she's got a picture, why wouldn't she turn it over?" Nick sounded puzzled.

            Grissom looked down at the file folder and then back up, "Because the P.I. is Jana Stevens."

Nick was the first person to recover from the shock of hearing Jana's name.  "My God, I thought she'd left Las Vegas after…."

            Grissom shook his head, "I checked, she stayed, got her license.  We treat her like any other P.I."  He passed the folder and paper with Jana's information off to Sara. Abruptly, he turned and walked out the double doors, the rest of the team following. Sara paused, her brows knitted in concern.  Who was this Jana Stevens, and why did everyone else seem to know her?

*                                  *                                  *

            "Not quite what you expected in a private investigator, Miss Sidle?"

            Sara turned and regarded Jana Stevens, trying to assess the best way to bring up the case.  The woman was, like her office, the antithesis of the private investigator stereotype.  Sara had been expecting a woman whose taste in clothing ran to rumpled suits a few sizes too big, frizzy hair, and an aura reflecting the sleazy reputation of her profession, working out of a cramped back alley office with unpainted walls, yard sale furniture, and gray filing cabinets

Instead, Jana Stevens was a petite blue-eyed blonde with her hair neatly pulled back into a chignon at the base of her neck.  She was wearing a tailored navy blue business suit with a crisp white blouse and a pair of low heels. Her delicate appearance was belied by an aura that hinted at a backbone of steel.

Stevens Investigations had a suite on the third floor of one of the downtown office buildings.  The waiting area was done in soothing beige tones, tasteful pastel prints on the walls, leather couches inviting clients to sit down and relax.  The receptionist was a young man in his late twenties, who was reading the latest copy of the Forensic Journal.  Three doors led off the main area.

            "Why don't we speak in my office?"  Jana suggested, gesturing towards the far left door.  She led Sara to room dominated by a massive oak banker's desk with two leather chairs facing it and another heavy leather chair behind it.  There was a wet bar in the corner and two couches perpendicular to each other near it.  Sara felt as though she was in the office of a high priced attorney.

            Jana motioned to the couches, "Can I get you something to drink?"

            "No, thank you."  Sara sat down.

            Jana shrugged and sat down on the other couch.  "Timothy said you were from the Las Vegas Crime Lab.  I'm assuming Gil Grissom sent you."

            "Yes.  You know him?"

            "Professionally, yes."

            "He thinks you're holding back on the Edgecombe murders."

            "I haven't turned over everything in my file, no."

            Sara looked nonplussed Jana's reply.  "Why?"

            Jana sighed.  "I have obligations to my clients.  I don't divulge their secrets to anyone unless I am instructed to.  That reputation for discretion helped me build my business, Miss Sidle.  I have several hotels and casinos that utilize my firm, as well as other businesses and private individuals.  My employees are bound by strict confidentiality agreements, as am I."

            "You would have withheld evidence in a homicide investigation?"

            "I didn't say that.  I'm not completely callous, Miss Sidle.  Check the 911 tapes, I believe you'll find my voice on there calling in the homicide."

"So you saw it."

            "I saw what appeared to be a dead Walter Edgecombe while I was on my stakeout."

            Sara was quiet for a second as she turned Jana's answer over in her mind.  She hadn't said that she didn't see the murder, and Sara knew that Edgecombe had still been alive in some of the photographs.  "So your client has seen these photographs?"

            "My client has seen all the photographs that were taken in relation to my investigation.  My client then instructed me to turn over specific photographs, and the field notes relating to them, to the Las Vegas crime lab - which I did."

            Sara glanced down at the field notes, "You were personally staking out the Edgecombe house for your client, taking photographs on the night he was killed."

            "Yes."

            "Why you personally?  You mentioned employees.  Surely you have other people to do the dirty work for you."

            "Surely, Miss Sidle, you understand the need to do the field work yourself.  It is my name on the letterhead, after all.  Besides, I enjoy doing field work, and my client specifically requested that I do all the work on this case myself, from the photos to the developing."

            "Why would they do that?"

            "Why does one hire a private investigator?  I don't know why, I just decide if I will take the job.  That was the condition, and I was paid well to do it."

            "How many other photos are there?"

            "I can't tell you that."

            "Who's your client?"

            Jana smiled, "Now really, Miss Sidle, you know I can't tell you that either."

            "I can get a court order."

            "If you feel you must, then by all means do so.  My attorneys will fight it, of course.  They've been on standby about this ever since my client told me to turn over the photos."  Jana stood, "Any other questions?"

            Sara stood also, "Just one, how do you know Grissom?"

            This time, the blonde woman' s smile was oddly malevolent.  "I suggest you ask him."

*                                  *                                  *

            Oh he was smart, Grissom was.  Jana stood at her office window and watched Sara Sidle drive off.  He sent over a CSI whom Jana had never met to question her, avoiding all the unspoken resentment that would have colored the air with anyone else from the unit.  

            She turned back to her office, sitting down at her desk and making notes on her conversation with Sara Sidle to add to the client file.  Jana was meticulous at documenting everything she did on a case.  Clients preferred that when billing time came around, and Jana preferred it to cover her behind in case she was accused of slacking.  Besides, her client would need to know about the threat of the court order, to plan ahead for it.

            Jana took out the file and flipped through her field notes.  Dates, places, people, conversations, tails - all were documented in her slightly unsteady handwriting.  She'd developed all the photos herself in the suite's darkroom.  It was an unusual request.  She usually had another member of the staff develop photographs, so she could concentrate more on the actual investigation.  Clients liked getting the personal touch from the head of the firm.

Jana was proud of Stevens Investigations.  She had gone from just herself to a company with three other investigators and two full time lab techs, plus Timothy, who was her office manager.  She'd added equipment as the business grew, using her trust fund as well as the income from the office.  Her lab wouldn't rival Grissom's, but it was adequate for her needs.  

            The thought of Grissom made her frown.  She hated having to turn over information to him.  Let him solve his own damn case, she thought, turning to the picture of the murderer slashing open Edgecombe's throat.  A clear shot, she noticed absently.  

The black and white print had been taken from a vacant apartment across the street from the victim's.  The living room of the apartment had a window with a direct line of sight into Edgecombe's bedroom.  Several shots had been taken that night.  The ones she'd taken with the zoom lens were the best, forensically speaking.  The killer's face was turned toward the window, almost as if posing for the picture.  Other details were visible - the clothing the killer wore, the arm used to hold the victim upright, the expression on the killer's face as the knife opened the jugular and the blood drained from the body.

Jana was struck by an inconsistency in the killer's preparations.  Latex gloves covered hands so there would be no prints left on the murder weapon, but no mask covered the killer's face.  There were three possibilities for that.  Either Edgecombe was supposed to know his killer before he died, or the killer didn't suspect that there would be any witness.  Or…the killer wanted me to take that picture, she thought.  She gave a shudder.  It was a thought she didn't wish to contemplate.

            Jana stuck the file back into her open case drawer.  She knew Grissom suspected that picture existed, and knew he would be back for it.  What she didn't know was if the killer knew the picture existed.  Would the killer care?

*                                  *                                  *

            "She practically admitted she's withholding evidence," Sara commented around a mouthful of tuna sandwich.

            Across from her, Warrick shook his head in dismay.  "Man, that doesn't sound like Jana, not on something as big as this," he remarked.

            Sara set her sandwich down on her plate and threw up her hands, "Okay, who is this chick and why does it seem like the whole night shift knows her but me?"  She looked from Warrick to Catherine, her voice holding a note of frustration at being out of the loop.

            Catherine set her own sandwich down and took a sip of her coffee before answering.  "Jana Stevens was a CSI about five years ago, worked on the night shift with all of us, including Brass."

            Sara was surprised.  "I got the impression she doesn't like Grissom much."

"She feels I was the reason why she left the department."

            They all turned as Grissom's voice sounded behind them.  He stood there, framed in the doorway, papers under his arm.  "What did you get out of her?"

            "She admitted she's got other pictures she didn't turn over, that she did all the work herself, per the client's request, and that if we want the pictures or the name of the client, we'll have to get a court order, but expect a fight - her attorneys are on notice."

            Grissom sat down at the break room table.  Warrick shook his head. "Five years is a long time to hold a grudge this bad."

            "I don't think all of that is personal, though," Sara said thoughtfully.  "She seems very dedicated to keeping her clients' secrets.  Grissom, if you all know her, why send me down there?"

            "You're the only person here she doesn't have a history with.  She would at least be polite to you.  Did you get anything else out of the trip?"

            Sara blinked at the abrupt shift.  "Yeah, her office looks more like an attorney's than a P.I.'s.  She's got a huge suite, professionally decorated; I guess the P.I. business pays well.  I checked her corporate records with the state corporation commission, she has three full time licensed investigators besides herself, two full-time laboratory technicians and an office manager."

            "She has a lab in her office?"  Catherine arched her brow in disbelief, looking first to Grissom, then Sara.

            "I didn't see one - I only saw the waiting room and her private office, but I would assume so."

            "So," mused Warrick, "Jana's got a client who just happens to have her staking out Walter Edgecombe on the night he gets sliced and diced by some unknown assailant.  This client tells her to turn over some, but not all of the photos of the crime scene that Jana took.  Photos that were taken before we even got there.  You thinking what I'm thinking?"

            Grissom nodded, "The client knew what was going to happen and set Jana up to take the pictures.  So why not turn over all of them?  Change of heart?  Or change of plans?"

            "Maybe the client knows the killer, wants leverage over him for some reason," Warrick speculated.

            "Blackmail," Sara mused aloud.  "But then why turn the photos over to us?"

            Catherine looked up, "Keep the case high profile, the heat on the killer.  'You're safe for now, but I can nail you at any time' sort of deal."

            Grissom was dialing on his cell phone.  "I'm telling Brass to get that court order, Jana's attorneys be damned.  We need that file.  If she's got the bastard on film, I want to see him."

*                                  *                                  *

            "If they bring a court order I want you to fight it as hard as you and your attorneys can."

            "I understand."

            "I do not want any of those other pictures getting out to the police.  It's bad enough Edgecombe is dead."

            "My attorneys have contacts in the court clerk's office.  As soon as the police make any move to file a court order or warrant to have me turn over my files, they'll file a motion to quash.  I briefed them on the situation last night before I went to the crime lab."

            "I realize you didn't want to do that.  But they needed to see some of those photos."

            "Please realize, I don't like to turn anything over to anyone who is not my client.  I promise discretion and I work hard to keep my promises."

            "I know, and I appreciate your dedication.  It will not go unnoticed.  Thank you again, Ms. Stevens."

            "Thank you."

            Jana chewed on her lower lip as she hung up the phone. She felt sorry for her client in a way.  The shock of the pictures had seemed genuine enough.  

            Twenty minutes later Timothy's voice came over the intercom, "Jana, Bob Schaeffer is on line one."

            "Thanks Timothy. Put him through."  A pause, "Bob, they've filed?"

            "Yeah, they filed.  We've put in our motion to quash.  It's set for Wednesday at 9, Judge Mayfield's court.  You'll probably need to be there."

            "I am not bringing those photos, Bob."

            "The judge may want to see them."

            "I don't care."

            A sigh.  "All right, do what you think is best.  Have you thought about what you will do if they invoke the other option we talked about?"

            "A material witness order?  I've got several options, none of which I'm willing to discuss over the phone."

            "Smart girl.  Listen, I'll drop off copies of the papers tomorrow so you can be ready."

            "Great.  Thanks Bob, I owe you one."

            "You owe me several, but that's why you pay that large retainer."

*                                  *                                  *

            Brass stuck his head into Grissom's office, "I swear that woman is one step ahead of us and laughing all the way.  Her attorneys have filed a motion to quash - five minutes after the D.A. filed the court order.  We can't do anything until Wednesday after the hearing, assuming we get the order."  He slumped down in a chair across from the desk.

            "She's always been very dedicated to her job, Jim."

            "Dedicated?  Hell, she was practically a psycho."

            Grissom looked disappointed at Brass' comment.  "No, just single minded.  Not a bad trait for a CSI, in moderation."

            "Think we ought to have a talk with her?"

            "And say what?  'We screwed you over five years ago and we need to use you now to solve a case?'  I doubt that she would cooperate."

            "Hell, if we could just figure out what she does or doesn't know then _we'd_ know if we had to bother with her at all.  I don't like this Gil."

            "We just have to see what happens.  Jana will come around.  She just needs time."

            "Yeah, that's what you said five years ago.  She still looks like she wants to cut your heart out with a butter knife."

            "I always thought she'd use a teaspoon myself."

*                                  *                                  *

            She hated to do it, she really did.  But she had a bad feeling about her client's insistence on not letting the rest of the pictures out into the hands of the police; if Jana couldn't keep them hidden, the client would ensure it.

            No one knew that Jana also rented a second office across town.  It was rented in the name of another company she had set up, used for those times when she didn't want her office staff to know what she was doing.  As she drove over, she repeatedly glanced in her rearview mirror.  She didn't want to be followed.  The Edgecombe file lay in her briefcase.  A heavy duty safe waited in the second office; Jana would keep the file in there.  Unless the police found the second office, they wouldn't get the file.  They could search her office with or without a warrant - though she doubted Grissom would stoop to such levels - and find nothing.

*                                  *                                  *

            Even as Jana was stowing the files in her backup location, her client was contemplating breaking and entering.  While Ms. Stevens was fanatical about protecting her clients and their secrets - the reason why she had been chosen for the job - the police were riled up about the Edgecombe murder. Egged on by the Governor and his friends, they wouldn't rest until the murderer was found.  

            Perhaps the police could be thrown off track, the client mused.  A few false leads here and there, nothing to implicate the real killer, but enough to find a useful scapegoat.  The client toyed with the idea of using Jana Stevens as a diversion for the police; she was perfect - they knew she was near the crime scene at the time of the murder.  But her loyalty to her client might be tested when faced with the death penalty - something she would not be blamed for.  No, someone else must be found.  Someone who knew Edgecombe and had reason to want him dead.  It shouldn't be too hard.

*                                  *                                  *

            "Hey Grissom!"

Grissom stopped walking toward the coroner's office when he heard Nick call out to him and backtracked into the specimen lab.  The younger CSI was in a lab coat, examining something.

            "What's up?"

            "Check this out."  Nick pointed to a knife lying on the Formica countertop in an evidence bag.  The blade was covered with a heavy layer of blood and dust, the florescent overhead lights glinting off the tiny bits of steel visible through the debris.  Grissom picked up the bag and slipped on his glasses, turning the knife around to examine it.

            "The police found it in a park just outside of the city.  It looks like the type of knife the coroner said was used on Walter Edgecombe - large, single edged blade. Sanders is running it for blood type and fingerprints now." Nick explained as Grissom peered intently at the knife.

            "You think the murderer left the knife in a park for anyone to find?"  Grissom asked, a trace of amusement in his voice.

            "Well, the park was three miles from Edgecombe's apartment, and it's a popular park -- lots of footprints, lots of people.  Good place to leave something you don't want traced back to you.  The police are trying to find someone who remembers seeing anyone suspicious, but they're not holding out much hope."

Greg Sanders slid into the doorway and stopped, a report in his hand.  "We got two prints off the knife hilt.  One belongs to Walter Edgecombe, your high profile victim," he said, a little out of breath.

            "And the other?"  Grissom asked, looking over the rims of his glasses at the lab tech as he set the knife back on the counter.

            Sanders grinned, "A Jeffery Michaels.  Sara's running him now."

"Good work, Greg."  Grissom turned to Nick.  "I guess we found our murder weapon, and a suspect."

            "I ran the DNA on the blood - only one type - the victim's," Sanders pointed out.

            "Well, that's all we found at the scene.  I guess our victim didn't get a chance to fight back."

            Sara spoke from the hallway behind Greg, "Jeffery Michaels, 42, former business associate of Walter Edgecombe.  Booked for DWI in 92."  She had a slight smile on her face.

            Grissom narrowed his eyes, pursing his lips.  After a few seconds he shook his head.  "It's too easy, too pat.  Sara, check him out.  Take Nick and talk to him."

            "What are you going to do?"  Nick asked.

            "I think I'm going to have a talk with Jana Stevens."

            Sara objected to Grissom's plan.  "Are you sure that's such a good idea?  I mean, if she blames you for whatever happened…" 

            "I know.  But she's our best witness."

            "Or our best suspect," Nick said quietly.

            Grissom nodded, "That too."

*                                  *                                  *

            "Walter Edgecombe?  Yeah, I heard it on the news.  I'd say I'm sorry he's dead, but I'd be lying."

            Jeffery Michaels was making himself a drink at his bar as he said this, looking at Sara and Nick through the mirror above the sink.  

            "So you didn't like him that much."

            "Bastard accused me of embezzlement two years ago when he knew I didn't touch the money.  Had the district attorney and forensic accountants up my ass for six months before they finally figured out I was clean.  Every cent in my professional and personal accounts documented and legit.  Hell, I could have told them that, but when someone who's got the Governor's ear accuses you, you're screwed."

            Michaels sat down in a chair across from the two CSIs.

            "Why do you think he accused you of embezzlement?" asked Sara.

            "I can't back it up, but I suspect he was afraid I'd find out who was doing it.  He knew I periodically checked the books myself. "

            "Any ideas who?"

            "I always suspected he did it and accused me to cover it up.  I had no proof, though, so I had to let it drop."

            Nick sat forward on the couch, "Sir, where were you on April 29th?"

            "The day Walter got whacked?  I was in Phoenix on a trip - my company sent me down there to a seminar.  They've got the receipts if you want them.  Look, he was a bastard and probably got what was coming to him, but I didn't do it.  I was cleared, I got another job, I got on with my life."

            Sara took over, "Mr. Michaels, your fingerprint was found on a knife covered in the victim's blood."

            Michaels paled.  "How the hell?  Look, I was in Phoenix, call my company, call the hotel, call the airlines.  They'll all tell you I was there.  I didn't kill Walter."

*                                  *                                  *

            The condo windows were dark when Grissom pulled up in his Tahoe.  He contemplated the darkness.  Jana was either asleep or not home.  At three A.M., either was a possibility for the P.I.  He sighed and got out, taking the folder with the pictures.  He walked up the path and rang the doorbell.  Sharp barks sounded from inside, and he winced, hoping the neighbors didn't wake up.

            A curtain flickered at an upstairs window, then footsteps sounded on the stairs leading down to the door.  The bolt slid back and the door opened.  Two tan and white dogs shot out.  They jumped on Grissom, barking and wagging their tails.

            "Tilly, Evie, down.  No jumping."  The dogs darted back inside and up the stairs.

            Grissom looked up at the woman in the doorway, a little uncomfortable with what he saw.  Jana had evidently been asleep.  Her hair was disheveled and she was wearing a Detroit Red Wings hockey jersey as a nightshirt.  She looked at Grissom with bleary eyes.

            "It's three A.M. and I'm tired. Either you've come to search my house with a warrant or you think that I'll listen to reason and turn over whatever evidence you think I'm holding back.  Since I don't see short, squat, and sarcastic with you, I'll assume the latter.  Forget it, Grissom, and let me get back to sleep."

            "I can't, Jana."

            "Damn it, I knew you were going to say that.  More stubborn than my dogs at dinnertime.  All right, come in."  She stood back and opened the door wider.  He stepped into her hallway and waited while she locked the door.  She led him up the stairs to the living area of her condo.  

Grissom glanced around.  "You've repainted," he commented.  She shot him a look over her shoulder as she headed into the kitchen.  One that clearly said, "Drop dead."

            "Want a drink?"

            "Water, if you have any."

            She came back into the living room with a bottle of water and a bottle of apple juice.  She handed him the water and caught his quizzical look at the juice.

            "I stay away from caffeine after midnight if I'm not working and I don't like water."  She flopped down on her couch and waved her hand at him to sit.  He sat on the opposite end of the couch from her.  The two dogs ran up and jumped on the couch, one curling up in her lap and the other next to Grissom.

            "Cute dogs.  Tilly and Evie?"

            "Scintilla's using you for a leaning post and this one is Evidence."

"Scintilla of Evidence?"  His eyebrow quirked.

            "And at 18 pounds they're more than a mere scintilla… but I don't think you came here to play word games with me, Grissom."

            "You used to call me Gil," he said softly, almost wistfully.

            "I used to respect you."

He couldn't think of a response to that.

"We found the murder weapon earlier, with prints."

"Bully for you.  So why the hell are you bothering me?"  She took a swig of her juice.

            "Because I think we were meant to find the knife, that the killer planted it to throw us off the trail."

            "So?"

            Lord, this was not going well.  She was still angry.  He stopped talking and took a drink of his water, petting Tilly.  It was awkward for him, being here with her.  They'd played out another farce of a conversation five years ago in this very room, and he had a bad feeling of déjà vu.  He was still frustrated with her, not understanding her anger.  She was still not seeing what he wanted her to.  

            "Two ships passing in the night."  He wasn't aware he'd spoken that thought aloud until she looked at him with the same quizzical look he'd given her earlier.

Grissom stood up.  "Look, Jana, I need to know what you know.  I've seen the pictures - Edgecombe was still alive in some of them.  Jana you saw the murder happen!  How can you sleep at night knowing this killer is out there?"

            "You're assuming a lot there, Grissom, with little evidence to back it up."

            "I know what I saw in that photo, Jana."

            "Can you prove it?"

            "You know I can't."

            "But you came here anyway, hoping to appeal to my better nature.  You of all people should know how that would turn out."

            Grissom stared at her.  She was turned away from him, staring out the windows at the stars.  Her hand was idly scratching behind Evie's ear.  "Jana, what happened to you?  You used to be so high on getting justice done, putting the bad guys away.  You worked a case harder than anyone I knew."

            "As I recall, you and Brass objected to that."

            "Only because you tended to go overboard at times."

            "I got the results.  They stood up in court.  What more did you want?"

            "You could have followed protocol."

            She snorted.  "This coming from you?  Pull the other one, Grissom."

            "Fine, don't help.  What makes you think this guy won't kill again?  What will you do then?  Just shrug it off?  When you could have stopped him from taking another life?  How will you live with yourself?"

            She turned to face him then, her blue eyes hard and flat, contempt visible in her expression.  "Tell me, _Gil_, how did you answer that question after Marcus Jackson?"

            Grissom said nothing.  Five years ago he didn't have an answer for her.  He still didn't have one.

            Jana stood, Evie jumping down onto the floor.  "You're wasting your time, Grissom.  Why don't you go wake Brass up instead of bothering me?"

*                                  *                                  *

            Catherine spotted Grissom as he stalked down the corridor to his office.  She jogged down the hall to catch up with him just before he got to the door.

            "Struck out with Jana, huh?"

            "Yeah."

            "Shouldn't have gone over there, Gil."

            "Tell me something I don't know."

            "The coroner identified the drugs in Edgecombe's tox screen.  Acetaminophen and codeine, a lot of it."

            Grissom turned to look at Catherine.  "Tylenol 3?"

            "Yeah, prescription painkiller, usually for post surgical treatment and other massive pain inducing wounds."  She held up a hand, "Before you ask, I checked with his doctors and insurance company.  Edgecombe never had a prescription for Tylenol 3, just something for a cold he had at the time of his death."

            "So our killer must have had one."

            "Or easy access to a bottle.  Which leaves us with most pharmacists, doctors, and families of post-surgical patients in the greater Las Vegas area."

            "So our killer doped up Edgecombe to make sure he wouldn't fight, then slit his throat."

            "Yeah.  You know, I don't think this was a random killing, Gil.  There's too much preparation and too little evidence.  Warrick and I went back over that scene with the proverbial fine tooth comb.  There was nothing there that shouldn't have been there.  Nick and Sanders did the hair and fibers - all belonged to Edgecombe or his family, who you say was over there the day before for a family dinner."

            Grissom looked up.  "What if it was one of them?"

            "Don't they have alibis?"

            "His brother and sister-in-law swear they were home in bed when the murder happened.   Neighborhood watch didn't see either of them leave or come back when they made their rounds.  Their two daughters were in their dorm rooms at UNLV, the roommates swear to it."

            "So much for that, then."

            "Yeah.  Damn it, Catherine, why can't Jana see how much we need those pictures?"

            "I think she knows, but she's always been stubborn - as stubborn as you at times.  She won't betray her client.  You going over there to talk to her didn't help, you know."

            "I know."

            Catherine herself was having a hard time believing that Jana was acting this way -- not that she blamed her.  Grissom and Brass had put her through hell five years ago.  Having to deal with them on this case was probably akin to prying open a wound with a crowbar for the younger woman.  Briefly, she debated going over to Jana's herself, maybe trying to get her to look beyond the past.

            Before Catherine could suggest to Grissom that she try to talk to Jana, Nick hurried toward them from direction of the labs, a huge grin on his face.

            "Hey guys, I think you need to come take a look at something."

*                                  *                                  *

            Inside the specimen lab, Nick had the murder weapon under the microscope.  "I was going back over the knife just to make sure we didn't miss anything and I found that we did.  Take a look."

            Grissom took off his glasses and peered into the microscope.  Caught in the space where the blade and the handle were joined was a hair, with follicle attached.

            He grinned up at Nick.  "Good work.  Get this over to Sanders and have him type it.  Tell him to run it against the DNA we've gotten on this case."

*                                  *                                  *

            Jana stood inside the doorway to her private office and gazed in dismay at the scene before her.  Papers were strewn on the floor, desk drawers had been pulled out and dumped upside down on the carpet, pictures ripped off the walls and torn open.  The other office where her investigators worked was practically a mirror image of destruction.  The filing cabinets in the lab had been forced open and searched with the same air of desperation.

According to her receptionist, someone had gotten in past the building guards and forced the lock on the suite.  Timothy had called the cops as soon as he had gotten in and seen the damage.  Two uniformed officers stood beside Timothy, taking his statement.

Jana could only think of one reason why someone would want to break into the office - the Edgecombe case.  None of her other clients had cases that would cause someone to take this risk.  No common burglar would have picked just her office - not with the security in the building.  

Fortunately for Jana and her business, the important client files were locked in a hidden safe in the lab every night.  Only billing records were kept in individual desks.  Her clients' secrets were still protected, despite the break-in.

            "Hell of a mess here, girl."  A familiar voice made Jana turn around and smile at the dark man behind her.

            "Warrick Brown.  I'd've thought you CSIs would be too busy with murder to deal with a little breaking and entering.  And when did you start working day shift?"

            "Brass noted the call was to your office and had Grissom send me over.  He told me to treat this as if it were part of the Edgecombe murder."  Her former colleague wouldn't meet her eyes, shifting his weight from on foot to the other.  Clearly, he wasn't comfortable at having to treat Jana like a suspect instead of the friend she had been.

            Jana stepped out of the doorway to allow Warrick into the office.  "I'm not surprised at that.  Brass must have the sheriff up his ass about this case.  Before you ask, I don't know if anything's missing."

            Warrick opened his crime scene kit, pulled out a camera, and began snapping pictures.  "So how's the P.I. business treating you?"

            "Pretty good.  It's not like being a CSI, but then again I do get to pick and chose my cases."

            "Yeah, there are times when I wish I could do that."

            "Like right now, I bet."  He didn't respond.

            She watched as he finished with the pictures and began dusting the office for prints.  Jana would bet her next rent payment that the vandal wore gloves.  Neither the killer nor her client would want to be traced, and no self-respecting cop or CSI would have been that stupid.

            "So what do you think about this Edgecombe case, Jana?"

            Jana raised her eyebrow.  Brass probably put him up to it, so there was no sense in getting angry.

            "I think I'm getting tired of people trying to question me about what I know," she replied mildly.

            Warrick looked up.  "I guess that wasn't very subtle, was it?"

She shook her head, a one sided grin on her face.  "Not really."

            "I had to try, you know."

            "I know.  I'd do the same if I were still a CSI."

            Warrick stayed silent, trying to determine how to respond to that statement without destroying the fragile rapport they'd established.  He didn't want to bring up the reason why she'd left CSI, and he wasn't sure if discussing any case they'd worked on together wouldn't inevitably lead to Marcus Jackson.  He drew in a breath to speak when Brass' voice sounded from the doorway. 

            "What the hell happened here?"  

Brass was standing in the doorway to the office, Grissom behind him, Bob Schaeffer next to Grissom.

            "I believe it's called breaking and entering, Captain."  Contempt dripped from Jana's voice.

            "Well, I have a warrant here allowing me to take any and all files pertaining to the Edgecombe case that we can find in this office." 

            "It's limited as to where you can search, Captain," Bob Schaeffer interjected, trying to let Jana know that he'd done his best to protect her.

            Jana held out her hand, and Brass handed her the warrant.  She read it over.  It was a valid warrant, signed by the judge, allowing him to search all accessible areas in her office suite.  That left the client files in the safe alone.  "Since you have a warrant, I don't see how I can stop you."

            "You're right, you can't, but I promise we'll do all we can to find out who did this."

            Jana heard the insincerity in Brass' tone.  She met his eyes, coldly.  _So he thinks I staged this_, she thought.  She wanted to give him a piece of her mind about leaping to conclusions.  Before she could, however, one of the street cops approached Brass hesitantly, a videotape in his right hand.  The hall camera had caught the intruder breaking into the office at 3:10 am, he told Brass.  Absently, Brass thanked him, turning to Jana.

            "And where you at 3:10 am last night, Ms. Stevens?"  It sounded like he expected her to come up with a flimsy story, already planning on taking her back to the station for questioning.  She was pleased to be able to shoot that idea down with the truth, and one Brass wouldn't like.

            "I was talking with Gil Grissom in my living room."  She smiled inwardly to see Brass taken aback, and watched as he turned to Grissom.  Grissom nodded in solemn confirmation as his eyes scanned the room in manner Jana recognized.  He was mentally processing the scene, picking out areas where he was most likely to find evidence.  Whether he was processing her office for the warrant or the breaking and entering, she didn't know.  She wasn't even sure she cared anymore.

            "If you gentlemen will excuse me, I'm going to wait over there with the nice officers while you dust for prints and execute your warrant."  Jana swept by Brass and Grissom, outwardly composed, inwardly seething.

            Warrick stared after her, dismayed.  Grissom looked resigned.  Brass looked positively gleeful.

*                                  *                                  *

            An hour later, the gleeful expression on Brass' face had been replaced by one of frustrated anger. The fruits of the warrant amounted to one newspaper article from the Las Vegas Tribune, found in Jana's desk, and a page of field notes documenting Jana and Gil's conversation of the night before, found in a legal pad in Jana's briefcase.  Neither a photograph nor an incriminating billing record was to be found.

            "She hid the evidence," Brass practically growled.

            "We do have to consider the possibility that the burglar took it," Grissom commented.

            "Oh yeah, right."

            "Think about it.  The client gets nervous, starts thinking that maybe Jana can't keep secret whatever this is, so he hires someone to break in and steal the files, or he does it himself."

            "Or Jana hid the evidence, hired someone to stage the break in, and you conveniently gave her an alibi for last night."

            "That's another possibility."

            Brass walked over to where Jana and Timothy sat on one of the waiting room couches.  Grissom followed.  The two were looking at something in the Forensic Journal.  Grissom leaned in closer.  It was an article on the use of DNA to exonerate persons falsely convicted.

            "Thinking of branching out?" Brass asked snidely.

            Jana didn't bother to look at him.  "Timothy is a criminal justice major at UNLV.  He's doing a paper on the topic, wanted the point of view of a former CSI for it."

            Grissom turned his attention to the younger man, "If you want another point of view, give me a call sometime."

            The young man looked surprised, then stammered out a thank you.  Brass rolled his eyes.  Timothy excused himself to go answer the phone.

            Jana glared at Grissom.  "Think you can get more information by charming my office staff?"

            "I'm always willing to help out a possible future colleague."

            "Uh-huh."  Jana turned to Brass, "I can see you're dying to interrogate me on what you found, Captain.  Ask away."

            "Where are the Edgecombe files, Jana?"

            Jana looked blankly at Brass.  "They weren't in my office?"

            "Oh that's cute."

            Jana got up and pushed past Brass into her office, pulling a handkerchief out of her pocket.  She used it to turn upright a file drawer Brass and Grissom had been in earlier.  The thief had been in there: the false bottom was torn open.  Jana had hidden the billing records in there.

            "Son of a bitch."

            "I take it you're saying the thief took them."

            "Yes."

            Brass threw up his hands and walked away.  Grissom moved closer to Jana.  He suspected she wasn't telling the whole truth.  There had been something in that hiding place relating to the Edgecombe murders, but not everything.

            Grissom spoke quietly, "Jana, have you considered the possibility that _you_ could be a suspect?"

            She dropped the drawer and turned to lean against the desk, crossing her arms over her chest.  "In the break in or the murder of Edgecombe?  No wait," she held up a hand as he started to speak, "let me answer.  Yes, I am aware that it could look like I hired someone to break in to hide the evidence that you were seeking.  I am also aware that the fact that I took pictures of Edgecombe after he was killed puts me at the location of the murder near the time of the murder."

            "It doesn't look good for you, Jana."

            "Let me give you a piece of advice, Grissom.  Follow the evidence."

            Grissom raised an eyebrow at hearing his own words thrown back at him.  Jana smiled, "What would my motive be?  Or do you think I've gone from maverick CSI to hit woman for hire?"

            "You do appear to be more prosperous that most private detectives.  We've been through this office, Jana.  You've got equipment in here that small town crime labs would envy."

            Jana tilted her head to the side, "I'm disappointed in you, Grissom.  Brass commented on my background enough to know where most of this comes from."

            Understanding dawned in his face, "Your parents."

            "The Trust Fund CSI, I believe Brass called me.  'Little rich girl playing at being a cop'."  Her voice mimicked Brass' sarcastic tones.

"I used my inheritance to set this up.  Private investigators have a sleazy reputation.  Clients feel bad enough about hiring a P.I. without having to deal with the stereotype.  I make them feel comfortable; I make them feel like there's nothing wrong with hiring a private investigator by looking like any other respectable business.  In return, I get better clients, better cases.  You can check my bank records if you don't believe me.  Hell, I'll bet you Brass is over there on his cell phone calling for a forensic accountant to go over my books - personal and business."  She was defensive, a tone he had often heard when Brass called her into his office to chew her out over the way she handled a case.

            Grissom reached out to lightly grasp Jana's shoulder.  "Look," he said softly, "is there anything you can tell me about this case without breaking your word to your client?"

            Two sets of blue eyes regarded each other, his pleading, hers considering.  She shook her head.  "I'm sorry, I can't."

            He dropped his hand and turned away.

            "How about another piece of advice?"

            He looked back at her.

            "Stop asking 'who' for a while.  Try asking 'why'."

            It was the closest she'd come to admitting that she'd seen the murder of Walter Edgecombe.

*                                  *                                  *

            Jana dialed her client from a pay phone down the block from her office.  She didn't trust Brass.  If her phones weren't already tapped, they would be soon.

"The police got their order.  They searched my office this morning."

            "Did they get the pictures?"

            "No.  There was a break in at my office this morning.  They think I staged it."

            "The files were stolen?"  The client tried to sound concerned, but failed.

            "Billing records pertaining to the job were.  I had already taken the precaution of removing the case file to a safe, untraceable location in anticipation of the court order.  The break in was an added bonus."

            "You sound like you suspect me."

            "You want to keep your secrets.  I don't blame you.  Besides, who else would know that those particular records were important?"

            "I can see why you do well at your job."

            "I'm still refusing to release the name of my client.  They're going to try stronger measures soon."

            "I realize this puts you into a difficult position."

            "I'm going to be between a rock and a hard place.  I know Gil Grissom, he won't give up easily."

            "I appreciate your discretion."  A sigh came through the phone lines.  "I'm going to consider some options.  I'll call you later."

            "Some advice - don't call me from anyplace that can be traced back to you if you want to keep your secrets.  I suspect Captain Brass will have my office and home phones tapped as soon as he can get the warrant.  I'm taking the same precautions."

            "Thank you, Ms. Stevens."

            "You're welcome."

            Jana stepped out of the phone booth and walked back to her office.  She knew that her client had taken the billing records.  Fine.  Jana would have turned them over willingly, but the client was being cautious.

*                                  *                                  *

            "Okay, I want to go over everything we know about Walter Edgecombe - personally, professionally, et cetera.  Everything from who he does business with to who does his dry cleaning."

Grissom and the team were seated in a booth at the diner down the street from the crime lab, having lunch.  He had mulled over Jana's advice on the way back to lab, and figured that maybe she was right.  

            "What's this all about, Gris?" asked Sara.

            "Jana dropped a crumb."

            Warrick grinned, "I knew she'd come around."

            "What kind of crumb?"  Catherine asked.

            Grissom saw the distrust in Catherine's expression.  "She said ought to stop looking for who, and maybe we should look at why - something you pointed out yesterday, Catherine."

            "Oh, so you're taking her more seriously than me?"

            He shook his head.  "We suspect Jana saw the murder and knows who did it.  She told me to concentrate on the why.  My guess is that she knows who and why, and is trying to lead us to the killer without giving up anything that's confidential.  She can keep her discretion if we solve the case without her help."

            "You know, I'm wondering if she's been trying to do that from the beginning."  Sara's comment made all heads turn to her.  The brunette gestured with her fork as she spoke.  "When I talked to her, she admitted to calling 911 and reporting the murder.  I checked the tapes, she was telling the truth.  Now, Catherine and Warrick talked to Edgecombe's cleaning lady when they went back over the crime scene.  She wouldn't have come in until 10 the next morning.  Barring some unforeseen person trying to reach Edgecombe between the estimated time of death and 10 am, the body wouldn't have been found until the day shift was on duty."

            "Making this case Eckley's," Catherine breathed.  "She called it in to ensure that night shift would catch the case."

            "Right.  I mean, she worked here, she'd know who was on each shift, and who was more likely to take the case seriously as a crime, not as a career maker.  She's been throwing us crumbs from the beginning.  She _wants_ this case solved."

            "So let's see where her advice leads us."  Catherine suggested.

            Grissom laid out the basic facts of the victim.  "Walter Marvin Edgecombe.  55 years old at the time of his death.  He'd been married to his wife Marie for twenty years when she was killed in a car accident.  They had no children, and he's lived alone since his wife's death."

            "From all reports he's very close to his brother Jonathan and his family.  His nieces Miranda and Caitlin have worked in his businesses over the years.  They all apparently think the world of him."  Nick frowned, a little skeptical about a family being that close.

            "Any reason to think one of them whacked him?"  Warrick asked.

            Catherine shook her head.  "They've all got fairly airtight alibis for the night of the murder.  The daughters were in their dorm rooms at UNLV, and the neighborhood watch swears that the parents never left their house that night."

            "So who else would want this man dead?"  Nick asked.

            Warrick leaned forward.  "Edgecombe was involved in some shady business dealings over the years, but nothing that anyone would kill over."  He shrugged.  "Anyway, they couldn't have been too shady because the rumor is that the governor was going to appoint him to some fancy state job after the next election.  I can't see the governor appointing someone who would tarnish his image."

            Sara took a sip of her ice tea.  "Jeffery Michaels --  the guy whose prints were on the murder weapon  --  was accused of embezzlement by Edgecombe two years ago, but came out clean."

            "Certainly gives him a motive -- revenge," Catherine pointed out.

            Sara shook her head.  "The problem is that Michaels was in Phoenix the night of the murder.  I checked with the hotel and with his roommate.  It seems his bosses decided to be cheap and booked two of their executives into a room.  Apparently, Michaels and his roommate had an all night poker game going that night with several other guys at the seminar.  Room service sent up several deliveries, and the waiters remember seeing Michaels."

            "What if the killer is someone who wants revenge on both Edgecombe and Michaels?"

            Grissom turned to Nick questioningly.  "What do you mean?"

            "Well, they were business partners.  Let's say that somewhere along the line, the two of them screwed over someone else.  This person decides to get revenge.  He kills Edgecombe and tries to frame Michaels."

            "Kill two birds with one stone, so to speak."  Catherine set down her glass.  "He probably didn't realize that Michaels was out of town that night, or he would have waited to kill Edgecombe."

            "That still doesn't answer the question of who hired Jana to stake out Walter Edgecombe, and why he had her turn over those photos," Warrick threw his napkin down on the table in frustration.  Their conversation had raised more questions than it had answered.

            Grissom looked puzzled.  "I think we've got someone fighting us on three different fronts here.  The killer, the client, and Jana."

            "So who's going to slip up first?"  Catherine asked.

            "That is a very good question."

*                                  *                                  *

The killer of Walter Edgecombe contemplated the victim's picture as it floated above the shoulder of the anchorman on the noon news.  There was no remorse, no regret about the death.  Relief was the dominant emotion.

            The private investigator wouldn't talk.  Her reputation for being discreet was on the line.  The police were the only ones to be worried about.  So far, they had nothing.  

*                                  *                                  *

            The client was happy that the police had followed up on the false fingerprint.  With Michaels' alibi, it was one more puzzle for them to consider, one more step away from the true killer.  

            Setting the investigator on Edgecombe might not have been such a good idea.  The murder had changed everything.  Now the pictures were still out there, the killer still in danger of discovery.  Giving some to the police had not been the best idea.  But that was before the implications of certain information in the field notes had become clear.  Before Jana and the client realized the reason for the murder.  Before the client realized that the killer had to be protected.

*                                  *                                  *

            Grissom stood with Brass outside Jana's condo.  The sheriff was still on the warpath over the Edgecombe murder, and had all but ordered Brass to get a warrant search the P.I.'s home.  Brass had called to see if Grissom wanted to join him.  She was at work, so the officers had gotten the complex manager to open the door.  

            Once inside, the dogs were all over the officers, happy to see humans.  "Think we should serve the warrant on them?" Brass quipped.  Grissom acted like he hadn't heard, leaning down to scratch their heads before pulling on his gloves and starting the search.

            This was the part of the job that Grissom hated.  It was one thing when the home belonged to a victim.  He felt that they wouldn't mind if he walked through their lives, examining their personal things -- he was trying to avenge their deaths.  But looking through the home of a suspect -- someone who was still alive -- made it harder for him to concentrate, harder to get a sense of where they kept their secrets.  Especially when he felt his presence was an intrusion.  He always felt slightly guilty, like he should be asking for permission.  In this case, it didn't help that the dogs were following him around, almost as if they were making sure he knew how much their owner would resent his presence in her home.

There was nothing pertaining to the case downstairs.  Upstairs, one of the bedrooms had been turned into a home office.  The papers in the filing cabinet were all personal business - insurance, house payments, bank statements, etc.  If she kept business records at home, she'd moved them.  Probably after their conversation last night.

            Brass was in the bedroom.  "Hey, Grissom, look at this."

            Strewn on the dresser were various newspapers articles about the Edgecombe murder.  Mentions of evidence found at the scene had been underlined.  

            "All it proves is that she was following the case.  We knew that."

            "Yeah, but this is more than professional interest.  Almost like an obsession.  I want to have an official chat with her."

            "She won't give you anything, Jim."

            "That's why you'll be there - you can see what she isn't telling me."

*                                  *                                  *

            Grissom leaned against the wall of the interrogation room, his left arm draped across the windowsill, his right hand in the pocket of his jacket.  Brass had called from the condo and had Jana brought down for questioning.  Grissom watched as Brass questioned her about Walter Edgecombe and her connection to the murder.

His eyes level-lidded, he watched Jana's reaction to each question.  He could discover a lot by the way a person acted, like a poker player watching the others at the table.  Everyone had their little 'tells' when they were bluffing.  He needed to find Jana's so he could ask her the right questions.  The problem was, Jana was good.  Brass was treating her like a regular suspect, not taking into account the fact that she had been in the department - she knew the protocol and the procedures.  She knew how to hide her tells.  She also knew Brass' interrogation methods.  She used them against him, anticipating his questions and tailoring her answers to give Brass minimum information and maximum aggravation.  Grissom almost felt sorry for Jim, he was getting beat at his own game.  They weren't going to get anything out of her.  

            Grissom offered to drive her back to her office when Brass finally let her go.  He watched her out of the corner of his eye as he drove.  She was angry and she was hurt.  She had hated every moment inside the crime lab.  He was feeling a little guilty about having made her come back.  She hadn't asked to get caught up in the investigation - she was trying to do what she loved.  

            She and Sara are alike, he realized.  They both have a tendency to get wrapped up in a case and fight it through to the end, sacrificing themselves to catch the perpetrators.  Emotion often ruled their investigations.  He realized he was hard on Sara sometimes because tried to protect her from becoming Jana: burned out too young; bitter and hard by getting too involved, by caring too much, by getting hurt too often.

Grissom didn't think emotions had any place in an investigation.  Hard science and evidence solved cases.  Emotions got in the way of finding the evidence.  What he didn't care to admit was that his migraines were the result of his emotions getting involved in his cases - and being ruthlessly suppressed.

            As he watched Jana walk into her office building, Grissom could feel the familiar prickle of a migraine creeping up the base of his neck…and settling ruthlessly over his left eye.

*                                  *                                  *

            "Okay, Nick, I don't think we drove all the way out here because you wanted a double mocha cappuccino."  Sara was annoyed at being dragged out of the crime lab to a Starbucks near the UNLV main campus.

            "Miranda Edgecombe's roommate works here," Nick said blandly as he sipped at his drink.

            Sara picked up her coffee and mock aimed it at Nick's face.  "So?"

            "According to the DNA markers, the hair found on the murder weapon matches Miranda Edgecombe.  Her roommate told Grissom and Brass that Miranda was home all night.  I want to see if she was lying or not."

            Sara set her cup down, her expression changing from annoyance to interest.  "I see."  She turned her head to study the dark haired young woman who was making her way over to their table.

            Kesha Davis sat down at the table with the two CSIs.  Before Sara or Nick could say a word, the girl spoke, a defensive note in her voice.  "I already talked to the police.  Miranda was with me in our room that night."  Absently, the girl leaned forward to grab a napkin from the holder and started twisting it around her index fingers.  Sara and Nick looked at each other in satisfaction.  Kesha was nervous about being questioned again.

            "We know, but the notes they took are missing, so we need to take your statement again," Nick lied smoothly.  Sara hid a grin by taking a sip of her coffee.

            Kesha began twisting the napkin a little harder.  "Like I said, Miranda was in the room with me."

            "All night?"

            "Yes, well, that is she'd left at one point to get a book she needed from someone down the hall, but she was back within a few minutes."

            Sara and Nick exchanged glances again.  Nick leaned forward in his chair.  "Was that the only time she left the room?"

            "She was down cooking in the kitchen for a little while as well - but she wasn't gone long."  Kesha's eyes were constantly shifting to the left as she spoke.  Both Sara and Nick knew from that action that she was making up her story.

"Did you tell this to the police the first time they talked to you?" Nick asked.

            The napkin ripped in half.  Kesha shook her head, not looking up from her hands.

            "Ms. Davis, if you don't tell us the truth, we can have you arrested for obstruction of justice.  In fact, if you're covering for Miranda and you know something, you can be charged with accessory to murder after the fact."  Nick's Texas drawl somehow made the charges sound more sinister.  Kesha dropped the napkin on the table, refusing to meet the eyes of either CSI.  She retrieved half of the napkin and began picking it apart with her fingers.

            Sara leaned forward and spoke quietly.  "Miranda asked you to lie for her, didn't she?"

            Kesha looked up, a relieved expression on her face.  "Yeah, she did."

            "So what really happened that night?"  Nick asked.

"She told me she'd been out driving around because she was stressed out about one of her classes.  She got in about 4 am.  When the police came by, she asked me to say she'd been home - she swore she hadn't done anything, but that she didn't want to have to deal with her mother knowing she'd been out driving alone in the middle of the night - her mother's real paranoid about things like that."

            "So you lied."  Sara stated.

            "Yeah.  Look she's my roommate.  She's covered for me when I was working at the strip clubs and didn't want my parents to know.  I was just returning the favor."

            "By lying to the police?"  Nick sounded incredulous.

*                                  *                                  *

            Grissom sat behind his desk and looked at Sara and Nick.  "Miranda Edgecombe?"

            "Yeah, she had her roommate fabricate an alibi.  According to the roommate Miranda was driving around until 4 am.  Time of death was around 2.  Gives her plenty of time to cut her uncle's throat and dispose of the evidence."  Nick's face was serious as he recounted the conversation with Kesha Davis.

            Grissom leaned back in his chair, idly chewing on the earpiece of his glasses.  "It's still circumstantial.  That hair could have gotten on the knife from the family dinner."

            "That's just it, that knife wasn't part of Edgecombe's set - the butcher knife wasn't missing.  He also had a specialty set - high quality, high priced knives - the kind you special order.  The knife we found was low quality, low price, available at any retail store," Sara explained.

            "So you think that the killer brought the knife with them?"

            "Exactly."  Sara smiled.

            Grissom sat forward.  "See if you can find out if Miranda had any possible reason to want her uncle dead.  I don't want to drag her down here without more evidence."

*                                  *                                  *

The warrant Brass served on Jana's accounts revealed nothing unusual in amounts or deposits.  Start-up expenses and the personal loans she'd made to her business were all documented.  She was also crafty, using client account numbers instead of names.  In short, nothing would allow them to connect the dots between Jana and any client.  The phone taps were also a bust.  All her calls were related to other cases, or personal phone calls to friends.  If she was talking about the Edgecombe case to anyone, she was doing so on a phone they hadn't tapped.

            "Well, you can't really be surprised, Jim.  She used to be a CSI; she knows our methods and how to get around them.  Probably told her client, as well."

            "So, what, we should stop trying to find out what she knows?"

            "No, we should stop treating her like she's any other suspect or informant.  It's only making it worse."

            "Don't want to make it worse, huh?  Then why did you go over here the other night?  Glutton for punishment?"  Brass noticed Grissom's discomfort as the CSI shifted in his chair, looking away from Brass.  "Never mind.  Look, did Sara and Nicky get anything on the niece?"

            Grissom was relieved by the change of subject.  "Yeah.  The regular doorman at Edgecombe's building said that she was a regular guest at the apartment - she had her own key and access card to the building. None of his other family members did.  Sara mentioned that she talked to the roommate again - Miranda had stomach surgery last summer and still had a bottle of Tylenol 3 in their room from it, but she hasn't seen it in a while."

            "Okay, by all accounts the vic and his family are tight - Sunday dinners and such.  Why would she want to do him in?"

            "I don't know."

            "I'll bet you anything Jana does."

            "Don't even think about it, Jim."

            Brass looked at Grissom innocently. "What?"

            "You bring her down here again, we're going to lose her for good.  She'll destroy the evidence."

            "What makes you so sure of that?"

            "It's what I'd do if I were her."

*                                  *                                  *

            Jana read the note that had been stuck under her windshield wiper.  Her client wanted her to call.

            Twenty minutes later she was in a phone booth on the Strip, dialing.

            "Hello?"

            "It's Jana Stevens."

            "Turn it all over."

            Jana was silent for a long time.  "Are you sure?"

            "Yes."

            "I don't like this."

            "I know.  I'm sorry, but it is the best solution for everyone."

            "There has to be another way."

            "There isn't."

            Jana sighed, feeling her entire life poised on a precipice, about to tumble down around her.

            "When?"

            "Tonight, after 10 pm."

            "Okay."

            "I'm surprised, you haven't asked why."

            "I don't want to know why.  I don't want to have to lie when they ask me."  She listened to the silence on the other end of the line as her client considered Jana's comment.

            "Your final payment has been mailed.  If they ask whom your client is, tell them.  It won't matter by then."

            "What do you -- "

            "Goodbye, Ms. Stevens.

*                                  *                                  *

            Brass and a street cop were waiting for Jana outside of her condo when she pulled up.  Brass was wearing the slightly superior grin he got when he was about to make an arrest.

            "Jana Stevens, you're under arrest for obstruction of justice.  You have the right to remain silent…."

            Jana sighed as she turned around to offer Brass her wrists, not giving him a chance to add resisting arrest to the charge.  Remain silent she would.  It was only 6 o'clock.

*                                  *                                  *

            Grissom and Catherine were in the hallway when Brass marched Jana into the station.  She was handcuffed, her back ramrod straight, but she offered no resistance to Brass as he guided her down the hallway.  She nodded at Grissom and Catherine as she passed them, but her face showed no emotion at all.  Even her eyes were unreadable.

            Catherine had overheard the argument Grissom had with Brass and the sheriff before Brass was sent off with an arrest warrant for Jana.  Grissom still advocated time as a way to bring her around.  After all, he pointed out, she did have to worry about client confidentiality, same as any other P.I. they'd dealt with.  Brass and the sheriff felt differently.  Both were convinced that arresting her would bring her around.  The sheriff refused to contemplate Miranda Edgecombe as a suspect - had seemed indignant that Grissom even suspected the girl, despite the evidence.

            Catherine was more inclined to agree with Grissom about Jana, though she'd never tell him that.  She remembered the bright eyed, idealistic girl she'd help mentor over five years ago, and knew that somewhere, that girl was still inside Jana.  She needed time to recall why she'd become a CSI in the first place, to regain the fire that burned in all the CSIs on the night shift: the fire to do justice, to solve cases and put the bad guys away.  The fire that made this job a calling, not a career.  That fire had led Catherine to this job, gave her the rush of satisfaction when the evidence came together and the case was solved.  She saw the same fire in Grissom's eyes when he walked under the tape onto a new crime scene, in Nick's when the relevance of a piece of evidence became clear; with Warrick, it was when a suspect gave himself away; with Sara, when she watched the arrest.   That fire had burned in Jana's eyes -- until Marcus Jackson.  Now there was only a tiny ember, encased in the hard ice of hatred.

            Catherine looked at Grissom, and for the first time in several years she felt truly angry with him.  She had argued against turning Jana loose alone on the Jackson case, had seen the case practically suck the life out of the girl, and had watched her cry in the hospital afterward.  Unlike Jana, she'd been able to put it behind them; she and Grissom had been friends for too long.  In the end, Brass was the one who had made the decision, not Grissom.  Still, the aggravation had remained.

            As he watched the procession turn the corner to the interrogation rooms, Catherine noticed the guilt reflecting in Grissom's eyes.  That guilt had never gone away, she realized.  It had just been channeled it into a protectiveness of other young CSIs -- especially the female ones.  He'd done his best to try to ease Holly Gribbs into the job, to protect her from the worst of it until she had more experience with the seedy side of Las Vegas.  Her death still weighed heavily on him.  The guilt of losing both Jana and Holly was behind his attempts to protect Sara by urging the younger woman to divorce her emotions from her cases.  Idly, Catherine realized that Grissom even tried to protect her, even after all their years of working together.  Hell, maybe he was protecting himself by separating his emotions from his cases.  Maybe Jana had been a lesson to him, as well.  

            Catherine sighed, shaking her head.  It was in the hands of Brass now.  If he couldn't get Jana to talk, they'd be back at square one.

*                                  *                                  *

            Jana's client and Walter Edgecombe's killer sat together in the client's home, each lost in their own thoughts.  The silence between them was broken as they both came to the same conclusion.

            "The police will cover up the information to protect the Governor."  The killer's voice was emotionless.

            The client nodded.  "The press has turned Edgecombe into a deity, the hunt for his killer a holy war.  They'll be all too happy to point out they he had feet of clay -- and the Governor won't let that happen.  He'll ensure it."

            The killer slammed a hand against the arm of the couch, impassive façade cracking.  "I can't let that monster get away with it again.  He took whatever he wanted however he could get his hands on it.  Now, he's going to destroy my life from beyond the grave and his friends will protect his precious reputation.  Who's going to protect me now?"  Tears of frustration welled in the killer's eyes.  

Jana's client reached across the cushions to lay a hand on the killer's shoulder. "We will.  We'll make sure that someone other than the police gets the information -- someone who won't cover it up for political reasons."

The killer looked up and smiled in understanding as the client outlined how they would tell their story to the world.

*                                  *                                  *

            It had been four hours since Jana's arrest, and she was still in the interrogation room.  Brass was frustrated because Jana wouldn't talk to him.  Grissom had watched from behind the one way mirror as Brass tried to get around that fact by bringing in other members of the night shift.  Jana had been extremely polite to them, but would only talk about matters that didn't pertain to the Edgecombe case.  She'd had a long conversation with Catherine about Lindsay, had joked with Warrick about cases the two of them had worked on, and had ribbed Nick about the A&M football team.  The minute someone brought up the Edgecombe case, however, she'd noticeably withdraw - her relaxed posture stiffening, her mouth pressing into a thin line, the laughter disappearing from her eyes as she stared blankly at the wall opposite her. 

            Grissom was the only one who saw the slight smiles that crossed Jana's lips each time Brass left the room.  _She's enjoying this_, he thought.  _She's deliberately driving Brass nuts_.  He shook his head at her cheek.

            He noticed Jana checking her watch.  He frowned, and looked down at his.  10:02 PM.  It wasn't the first time she had checked her watch -- in fact, it had been a repeated action on her part, more so than a typical arrestee.  He wondered what was so important about the time.

            The sheriff walked into the observation room and stood next to Grissom, his feet shoulder width apart.  He folded his arms across his chest and glared through the glass at Jana.  Before either man could say a word, Jana turned in her chair to face the mirror in the interrogation room that hid the two men from her view.

*                                  *                                  *

            "I want to talk to Grissom."

            They were the first unsolicited words she'd spoken in four hours, and they were disconcerting because it appeared as if she were staring into his eyes when she said them.  He sighed.  

            "Are you going to talk to her, Gil?"

            Grissom turned to the sheriff, "Do you want me to?"

            "Yes."

            "Fine."

            Lips taut, Grissom stiffly walked out of the observation room and entered the interrogation room.  He shut the door, cautiously settling into the chair across from Jana.  He was unsure of why she wanted to speak to him.  He was also unsure of what to ask her, yet he knew he didn't want to talk about the murder.  He wanted to talk about the past, to explain, to apologize.  Jana didn't give him a chance.

            "The day of the break-in, you asked me a question.  I gave you an answer, one you didn't like."

            "I remember."

            "The answer has changed."

            Grissom shifted forward, arms on the table, fingers threaded together.  "There are things you can tell me without breaking your word to your client?"

            "Yes."

            He didn't want to ask the question, but he knew that the sheriff was expecting it.  "What?"

            "Yes, I saw the murder.  Yes, I know who.  Yes, I know why.  Yes, I have pictures.  No, I don't know where the killer is now."

            A muffled exclamation came from the room behind the mirror and Jana smiled.  Grissom's eyes widened at her litany of answers.  The door behind him burst open and Brass and Sheriff Mobley entered. "Who?"  Mobley demanded.

            Jana stared straight at the sheriff.  "Miranda Edgecombe."

            The sheriff narrowed his eyes at the answer.  "Can you prove it?"

            Jana stood.  "The pictures are in the safe in my second office downtown.  I can take you there and show you.  There is no way to get into that safe without me, Sheriff," she said when he looked ready to veto the idea.  "If you want the proof, I have to be there."

            The sheriff set his jaw, then turned to Grissom and Brass.  "Go.  I want proof before I arrest the man's niece."

                                    *                                  *                                  *

            The door was open when Grissom, Brass, and Jana arrived at the office.  Jana stopped, silently pointing to the door.  Grissom and Brass looked.  Brass drew his gun and motioned for Grissom to open the door.  As soon as he did, Brass whirled into the opening, gun first.  He apparently saw no one because he waived Grissom and Jana in behind him, putting his gun away.

            Jana flipped on the lights and gasped in surprise.  Grissom followed her line of sight and turned the lights off again before cautiously moving forward.

Miranda Edgecombe and Jeffery Michaels sat in each other's arms on the sofa just behind the door.  They were both ghostly pale and unmoving, their lips blue.  Grissom stepped over to them and laid a hand on each of their necks, checking for a pulse.  He looked up at Brass and shook his head.  Brass pulled out his radio.

            Jana walked over to her client, Jeffery Michaels, and the killer, Miranda Edgecombe.  Funny how peaceful they looked, despite what couldn't have been a pleasant death.  A wistful smile curved Miranda's lips; Jeffery's face had lost the hard lines Jana had seen on his visits to her office, making him look five years younger.  The light from outside the windows glinted off glass in Jeffery's left hand.  Jana lightly touched Grissom's shoulder, pointing to the bottle when he turned to her.  He moved closer to peer at it, then stood up.  He turned to Jana, his face unreadable.

            "Cyanide."

            Jana nodded, too shaken to speak.  She had assumed her client and the killer meant to skip town when Jana turned the files over to the police.  Suicide had never crossed her mind.

            "I guess that's one way to beat a murder rap."

            Brass' comment made Jana's spine stiffen in anger.  Her throat closed up as she struggled to hold in the words she longed to spit at him.  She was afraid that one she got started she wouldn't be able to stop herself from dredging up old wounds.  She couldn't let that happen, not here, not now.  She'd shatter if it did.  Deliberately, Jana forced herself to clear her mind, refusing to let herself do anything she'd regret later.

            Grissom watched as Jana retreated mentally from the scene around her.  Her eyes were angry, but there was no reflection of awareness in them.  She didn't respond to any other sarcastic remarks made by Brass.  When Grissom asked if she was all right, she merely nodded, her eyes staring straight through him.  She moved away from him to the doorway, turning her back on the room.

When the cops and the coroner arrived, along with the sheriff and Grissom's team, he continued to study Jana.  She remained in her mental retreat, answering questions in a monotone voice and passively moving wherever someone directed her.  To see her so unaware, when she'd been so vibrant less than an hour before, troubled him.  Even when she opened up the safe and handed her files over to Brass, she remained distant.  

*                                  *                                  *

            Two days later, Jana was cleaning up her office from the break-in and police search.  Her television was turned onto a soap opera for background noise.  When the anchor broke in to announce that Sheriff Brian Mobley was about to hold a press conference regarding the investigation into the murder of Walter Edgecombe, she stopped organizing papers and turned up the volume, curious about what the sheriff had to say.

The sheriff was standing on the steps outside of police headquarters, surrounded by dozens of reporters.  "The Las Vegas police department has evidence conclusively proving that Walter Edgecombe was killed by his niece, Miranda Edgecombe.  Hair found on the murder weapon matches Ms. Edgecombe's hair, and she was seen in her uncle's apartment near the time of the murder.  In addition, a local private investigator assisted in the investigation by turning over photographs of the murder, clearly showing Ms. Edgecombe killing her uncle.  Unfortunately, before she could be arrested for her crime, Miranda Edgecombe took her own life.  I would like to thank Captain Jim Brass in homicide and Supervisor Gil Grissom of the crime lab for their dedication to this case.  That's all."  As the sheriff turned and walked back into the building, he ignored the shouts from reporters asking why Miranda Edgecombe had killed her uncle.

            Jana snorted at the sheriff's description of her "assistance" on the case.  Oh well, since the obstruction charges had been dropped he could say what he wanted to about her.  She wondered what Grissom thought of being thanked for his "dedication" -- when the sheriff wouldn't have let him quit, even if he'd wanted to.

            Jana wasn't surprised that the motive behind the murder was being kept secret.  She knew the police, Miranda's family, and the governor would not want anyone to know why Walter Edgecombe had been killed.  Jana knew the truth, but wasn't sure if telling it was the right thing to do.  Even though Jeffery Michaels was dead, he had been a client, and she kept her clients' secrets.

            Two hours later the phone rang, startling Jana.  Since Timothy was helping to clean up the lab, she got up from the floor where she was still sorting papers and answered.

            "Stevens Investigations."

            A cultured tenor voice spoke on the other end of the line.  "Jana Stevens, please."

            "This is she."

            "Ms. Stevens, this is Don Rowan from KLAS."

            Jana furrowed her brow.  In her experience, reporters didn't call private investigators unless they were looking for information.  "How may I help you, Mr. Rowan?"

            "You were the private investigator hired by Jeffery Michaels to look into the affairs of Walter Edgecombe, the one the sheriff mentioned today in his press conference, correct?"

            "I'm afraid I can't comment on whether or not someone was a client, Mr. Rowan.  Nor do I interpret ambiguous remarks made by public officials.  That's your job."  Jana did not want to be connected to this case in the press.  It would make her other clients nervous.

            A slight chuckle came over the line.  "Ms. Stevens, we received a tape today in our newsroom that has Jeffery Michaels and Miranda Edgecombe confessing to the murder of Walter Edgecombe, in detail.  We're planning on broadcasting it on the news at 6 tonight.  We'd like to have your opinion on the details of the murder."

            Jana was silent in surprise.  Finally, "I'm sorry, Mr. Rowan, but I cannot comment on the tape."

            "Are you sure you don't wish to add your comments to the story?"

            "No.  Thank you."  Jana hung up the phone before the reporter could ask any more questions.  She smiled evilly.  She set the papers she had been holding down on her desk, grabbing her keys and her purse to lock her private office.  She told the rest of her staff to go home early - they would finish cleaning tomorrow.  She locked the outer office door, effectively closing her business an hour early.  She ran out to her car.  She wanted to be at home when the tape was broadcast.

*                                  *                                  *

            "What the hell?"

            Grissom waved Brass to silence as he turned up the TV in the break room, his jaw dropping as he listened to the anchor announce the lead story.

            "Earlier today, Las Vegas Sheriff Brian Mobley announced that the police had conclusive evidence that Miranda Edgecombe had killed her uncle, Las Vegas businessman Walter Edgecombe.  Sheriff Mobley, however, declined to mention why the young woman killed her uncle.  Just a few hours ago, we received a tape made by Miranda Edgecombe.  Here now, in her own words, the young woman explains why she committed this terrible crime.  We must caution our viewers that this tape may be upsetting to small children and sensitive individuals."

            Brass had paled at the mention of the tape, dropping his plastic fork into his salad.  "The sheriff's gonna flip over this."

 Grissom managed to close his jaw and watched as the scene changed from the perfectly attired anchorman in the studio to a shaky video recording.  Miranda Edgecombe and Jeffery Michaels sat side by side in what looked like someone's living room.  The camera had been set on a surface that wasn't tall enough for Michaels, and the very top of his head was out of the picture.

Miranda Edgecombe stared straight at the camera.  Her hands, though, betrayed her nervousness.  She was wringing them hard enough to leave livid red marks on her skin.  Her eyes were dry but bloodshot, as if she had been crying not too long before the tape was made.  Jeffery Michaels was pale, his lips taut.  He reached over to put his hand reassuringly on Miranda's arm.  Grissom frowned at this gesture, but didn't have time to analyze it because Jeffery started speaking.

"Miranda and I are making this tape because we know that the Governor and his friends, as well as her family, will want to keep the truth from being told.  We both feel that, despite the pain it will cause her family, the truth about Walter Edgecombe has to come out.

"Two years ago, Walter Edgecombe accused me of embezzling money from a business we both owned.  I was innocent, and eventually cleared of the charges.  I was, however, angry with Walter for accusing me, and I suspected he had embezzled the money.  Recently, I hired a private investigator to look into Walter's affairs, with the intention of blackmailing Walter as revenge."

The door the to break room burst open and Catherine rushed in, Sara on her heels. "Gris, are you watching --" Both Grissom and Brass shushed Catherine as Michaels continued speaking.  Catherine sat on the arm of the couch next to Grissom to watch, Sara moved to stand behind Brass.

"What the private investigator discovered was that Walter had taken the money from our business, then accused me to cover his own tracks.  Miranda had been working for us at the time."

"My uncle had me helping with the accounting of the business.  He would give me the bills and I paid them.  What I didn't realize, as I didn't pay attention to the day to day business, is that many of the bills were fake, going to companies that my uncle had set up to hide the money away."  Miranda bit her lower lip and turned away from the camera, closing her eyes.  Jeffery moved his hand to take hers, squeezing it in reassurance before continuing the story.

"Walter wasn't satisfied with embezzling from the company and accusing me, however.  He eventually confronted Miranda with the missing money, claiming that he had documents and witnesses that could prove she had done the embezzlement on her own.  He threatened to turn the evidence over to the police."

"Then he told me that he would keep his mouth shut and hide the evidence if I slept with him."  Miranda cut into the story, anger and pain showing in the tears that threatened to fall from her brown eyes.  She was clutching at Jeffery's hand as if it were a lifeline.  "I didn't know what to do.  I had written those checks.  I was barely 18.  I couldn't tell my sister.  I was afraid to go to my parents."  Her voice had risen with each sentence, and the tears finally started to fall.  She buried her face into Jeffery's shoulder.  He removed his hand from hers and put his arm around her.

Grissom's hands were clenched into fists, his jaw taut.  Behind him, Catherine had her eyes closed, a hand covering her mouth.  Brass was looking down at the table, shaking his head slowly.  Sara looked like she wanted to kill Edgecombe herself.

"That son of a bitch," Sara whispered angrily.  Her words reflected what they all felt at hearing the cold facts brought to life by Miranda's words.

Back on the screen, Miranda had stopped crying and was facing the camera again, tears still leaking from the corners of her eyes.  "After two years, he started to tell me that he was thinking of turning the evidence over to the police.  He was bored with me, he said.  I couldn't believe that he would destroy my life like that after I gave into him…." She trailed off, hiccupping.  Jeffery closed his eyes.

When Miranda started speaking again, she spoke quickly, as if she had to get the words out before she started crying again.  "I couldn't let him destroy my life.  I had to kill him.  I knew he was trying to get rid of a cold, so I took my bottle of Tylenol 3 over and told him it was a prescription cold medicine.  He told me I was thoughtful, and he swallowed half the bottle.  It didn't take long to knock him out.  Once it had, I took out a butcher knife I had brought with me and slashed his throat.  I changed my clothes before I left, and put the bloody ones and my gloves into a trash bag.  I tossed it into a dumpster in an apartment complex closer to the school."

            "That would explain why we never found the clothes in her room," Brass remarked.  The others in the room looked at him angrily, and he held up his hands in apology for speaking.

            "When my private investigator showed me the pictures of Miranda killing her uncle, I was shocked.  But as I learned more about Walter, I realized why Miranda had done it.  Walter was slime -- he deserved to die.  I called Miranda, asked to her meet me at my house, and told her that I understood why she had done it, and that I wanted to help her."  Jeffery smiled wryly.  "She wasn't very willing to listen at first."

            Miranda made a sound that was half-laugh, half-sob.  "I thought it was starting all over again."

            Jeffery nodded, squeezing her shoulder.  "I managed to convince her I wasn't trying to get anything from her when I offered to plant my own fingerprints on the murder weapon to throw the police off the trail.  I was out of town the day of the murder, but I knew the police would start concentrating on me or mutual enemies of Walter and myself as possible suspects.  They wouldn't be looking at Miranda.  They would have no reason to."

            "It worked," Catherine said quietly, her eyes still troubled.

            "However, the Governor was upset about Walter's death.  He continued to put pressure on the police to find the killer.  The press was turning Walter into some sort of saint, constantly talking about his contributions to the Governor's campaign and the good deeds his businesses did.  Additionally, through an admittedly stupid move on my part, the police became aware of the private investigator I had hired.  They put pressure on the investigator to turn over the files relating to Walter's death.  My investigator resisted their efforts, but the three of us knew that the police would not give up."

            Miranda took in a shaky breath, her eyes red-rimmed from crying.  "Jeffery had told the investigator to turn over the files to the police.  Then we realized that the Governor and my family would never allow anyone to know what a sick bastard my uncle was.  He would have destroyed both of our lives again without paying for his actions.  We couldn't let that happen."  She turned to Jeffery, a slight smile on her face.  "So this is our confession."

            Jeffery pulled Miranda closer, both of them looking straight into the camera.  Despite her red eyes and his pallor, there was an unmistakable look of satisfaction on their faces.  "Neither one of us is sorry for our actions.  Walter deserved to die.  The truth about Walter deserves to be known.  So we are sending this tape to the people we know will be anxious to tell the truth -- the press.  We hope you understand."

            Miranda looked tearful again.  "Mom, Dad, Catie -- I'm sorry.  I hope that one day you can forgive me."  Tears started to slip down her cheeks as Jeffery got up and approached the camera.  

The scene abruptly shifted back to the anchorman in the studio.  Grissom hit the mute button.  The four friends looked at each other silently.  Sara's lips were a thin line in her face.  Abruptly she turned and stalked out of the room.  Grissom started to get up and go after her, but Catherine put her hand on his arm and shook her head, getting up herself and going after Sara.

            "The Governor is going to have egg all over his face for telling the press what an upstanding, moral person his friend Walter Edgecombe was."  Brass sighed.

            Grissom nodded.  "I don't think our sheriff is going to be happy, either."

            "Well, at least he can't blame us for leaking it to the press."  Brass gathered up the remains of his dinner and tossed them in the trash.  "I'm going to go hide from the phone calls we're going to be getting."  He left the room, his face still troubled from the confession.

            Grissom sat along in the break room, thinking.  Seeing the confession had bothered him, too.  It brought home to him the fact that the true victim in this case wasn't Walter Edgecombe; it was Miranda.  Yet the Governor and the sheriff would have buried the young woman's story for the sake of politics.

Grissom hated cases with political overtones - this one especially.  The thought of suppressing the motive for the murder had sickened him, but he hadn't been the one to make that decision.  They had the killer, so his job was done.

            But it wasn't really.  He still had one more chapter to close in this case.  He had to talk to Jana again.  Even if she didn't want to hear it, he had to apologize.

*                                  *                                  *

            Hours later, Grissom was finally able to get away from the lab to see Jana.  He was worried about her.  He rang the bell, recalling how much her emotional retreat at the suicide scene had disturbed him.  He hoped she wouldn't be so withdrawn tonight.  He heard the dogs bark out a warning and footsteps coming down the stairs. 

            He was ready for Tilly and Evie when the door opened and they shot out, greeting Grissom like he was their visitor, not Jana's.  He leaned down to greet them; scratching behind silky ears and under eager chins before straightening to look at Jana.  She had been asleep again, wearing the same hockey jersey as before, though she'd pulled her hair up into a ponytail tonight.  Grissom couldn't help but notice that it made her look younger.

            "Grissom.  Why is it every time you want to talk to me, you come to my house at three in the morning?"  She rubbed a hand across her eyes as she spoke.

            "I'm awake?"  He shrugged, a slight smile tracing across his lips.

            "Cute.  Real cute.  Since you're here and I'm now awake, come on in."

            She closed the door behind him and followed him up the stairs.  He sat on the couch as she disappeared into the kitchen, coming back with treats for the dogs and drinks for the two of them.  He accepted the water and watched her feed the dogs.

"You saw the tape on the news?"

            "Oh yeah."  Her eyes twinkled with mischief and satisfaction.

            "Did you know about the tape?"

            "Not until KLAS called me for a comment two hours before it ran."

            "What did you say?"

            "No comment."

            He was silent for a moment.  "You didn't say anything to anyone about the tape."  It was an accusation.

            She turned to him, "What would I say and who would I tell?  They wanted their story known.  They took steps to ensure it."

            "You wanted it known, too."

            "Damn right."

            "You wanted the murder solved, even though you sympathize with Miranda Edgecombe."

            She looked away.  "Murder is murder, Grissom.  You once told me that we don't get to pick the victim, we just solve the crime.  Walter Edgecombe may have been a son of a bitch and an asshole, but that didn't mean that his killer should not be caught."

            "I don't get you, Jana.  You were playing both ends against the middle - and two people lost their lives because of it."

            "No, two people lost their lives because they chose to end them.  Don't put all the blame on me here - you know perfectly well that you and Brass would have kept chasing leads as long as the sheriff and the governor were on your ass.  You would have caught them eventually - hell, you had Miranda's hair on the murder weapon already.  All I did was make sure that someone who didn't give a damn about politics and wouldn't compromise evidence to save his ass got assigned to the case."

            "By calling 911, instead of letting the cleaning lady find the body."

            She looked at him with an amused expression on her face.  "Would you really want Conrad Eckley standing over your dead body?  I sure as hell wouldn't.  I may not respect you or your decisions five years ago, Grissom, but I have always respected your abilities as a CSI."

            He was quiet at the slightly backhanded compliment.  It gave him the opening he wanted.  He took a long drink and dived into the murky waters of their shared past.

            "I made some bad choices five years ago."

            She narrowed her eyes at him. "I hadn't noticed."  Her voice was devoid of emotion.

            "I shouldn't have let Brass send you out on that case alone.  Not with your history."

            "I told you as soon as I realized that I had a conflict."

            "I know.  I should have listened."

            "Yeah."

            "I never meant for it to happen, Jana."

            She leaned her head back against the top of the couch, her eyes tightly closed in the pain of remembrance.  "I suppose you didn't.  But what did you think was going to happen when you assign a CSI to a case that had the same signature as the murder of her parents?  That I was going to invite him to a tea party and ask him to confess?"  The sarcasm in her voice didn't completely mask the pain.

            "Jana…"

            "Damn it, Grissom!  You and Brass _knew_ that I suspected Marcus Jackson of more than just the murder of Ginny and David Young!  I told you, and the two of you left me on the case.  Hell, you took Warrick off it and left me alone, knowing that I would work that case until I dropped.  Brass got me that warrant, then ordered me to check that house out alone, refusing to let me take along you, or Catherine, or anyone.  I don't know what Brass was trying to prove - I know he didn't like having me in CSI - but boy, did he ever make his point that night."

            Jana abruptly stood and crossed the living room to the windows facing the common area of the condo community.  She stood framed in the moonlight, staring out the window, her arms wrapped tightly around her body as if to keep herself from shattering into a million pieces.  Grissom knew she wasn't seeing the scene outside that window, but the scene inside Marcus Jackson's house that night five years ago.  He'd read the reports of what happened, but had never heard Jana actually talk about it.

            "The evidence from the Young murders was in plain sight on his dining room table.  I bagged it, got ready to leave.  I didn't want to be there any longer than I had to.  God, just being in the house where that man lived -- it creeped me out.  I noticed something else on the dining room table, though.  A gold chain, with a gold and amethyst pendant.  It looked so familiar.  I picked it up and I knew it was my mother's.  After ten years, the bastard still had my mother's necklace in his house."  Tears slipped down Jana's cheeks.  "I don't know how long I stood there just staring at the necklace before I realized he was there, watching me.  The smile on his face was pure evil as he started toward me.  I tried to run, to get away; he pulled a gun and fired at me.  I couldn't move.  He looked, noticed the necklace was still in my hand.  'The woman who wore that pendant, she was a good screamer,' he said. God, it sounded like he was laughing as he said it.  He kept coming closer to me, still talking about my mother.  'She screamed the whole time I raped her. I always heard cops were good screamers...'"

            Her voice trailed off.  She sank onto the carpet, crying too hard to finish.  Grissom knew the rest of the story.  Jackson had raped her and shot her, leaving her for dead.  If Warrick hadn't gotten concerned about her, hadn't defied Brass and gone out there, Jana would have died in the house of the very man who killed her parents.

            Jackson was eventually caught, convicted of murder and rape.  The jury gave him the death penalty.  Jana recovered physically, but she was never the same.  The fire for justice was gone, hatred blazing in its place.  Hatred for Brass, Grissom, and Jackson.  She blamed them for what happened.  

            Grissom remembered the conversation in her living room five years ago.  She hadn't shown up for her first night back at work, and he'd come over to check on her.    He'd tried to get her to talk about it, but she'd refused at first, not listening when he tried to justify the decisions that had been made.  She'd talked then, screamed at him, but he couldn't understand her anger.  He'd left her house angry.

            The end of the shift that night found him in the break room with Brass and the others.  Everyone was shifting uncomfortably in their seats, not meeting each other's eyes.  No one wanted to bring up the issue of Jana.  Amidst the silence, she'd walked in, dressed in a business suit, her appearance reflecting the ice of contempt in her eyes.  She tossed her badge and ID on the table in front of Grissom, handed Brass her gun, raked them all with a cold stare, and turned her back on them, walking out without a word.  She never looked back, never set foot in the crime lab again -- until this case.

            Grissom was at a loss for words.  He hadn't known what to say to her then that didn't sound trite and patronizing.  He still didn't know.  He had found his own absolution by shoving that moment into the dark recesses of his mind, burying the guilt underneath new cases, new evidence, even some new guilt.

            Jana wiped her eyes on her sleeve and took in an unsteady breath.  She looked up and he saw a spark of the old Jana in her eyes.  She smiled at him, the first genuine smile he'd seen on her in five years.

            "You know, in a way I'm glad Brass had me arrested and dragged into the crime lab."

"Oh?  Why is that?"

            "Because I had to face that part of my past at some point.  Hell, maybe that's why I called 911, and why I let Michaels talk me into turning that first set of pictures over to you.  I wasn't trying to avenge Walter Edgecombe. I wanted put myself into this position -- so I could get on with my life."

            Silence stretched between them as Jana continued to wipe her eyes.  It was a comfortable silence, like the silences they had often shared while working crime scenes together.   The silence gave Grissom a sense of hope that Jana would be able to get on with her life.  It also lifted some of the guilt he carried.

Finally, Jana stood up, eyes red-rimmed but clear.  "Look, Grissom, it's late.  I want to get back to sleep.  Thanks for coming over."

            He rose from the couch, taking the hint.  She walked him to the door and watched as he walked to his Tahoe.  She started to shut the door, then stopped and called out to him.

            "By the way, Gil.  Apology accepted."  She let a trace of another genuine smile cross her lips as she shut and locked the door.

            Grissom got into the Tahoe and watched as the lights in her house were turned out one by one.  He nodded, a smile touching his lips as drove away.


End file.
